


Playing house in the ruins of us

by Elisexyz



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 13:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15097385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: A subtle feeling of distress starts creeping up under her skin, just as she realizes that it really feels like she’s being— “Oh my god,” she breathes out as soon as she notices Flynn sitting at her bedside and staring at her. She automatically tries to pull herself up in a sitting position as fast as possible, which causes a stab of pain to her side and tears a small cry out of her.Flynn jumps on his feet, gently pressing on her shoulder to urge her to get back down. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, useless as it isnowthat she’s alreadydone it.God, it hurts.





	Playing house in the ruins of us

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tumblr prompt: [75\. “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” + Garcy](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com/post/175379346289/garcy-75-from-the-prompt-list-please).  
>  This got much longer than I was expecting LOL.

When she wakes up, it’s to an unfamiliar, very tall ceiling. She blinks a couple of times, her vision still a bit blurry and her eyelids pushing to fall down again, but she squeezes them shut and brings up her hands to rub her eyes, forcing herself to get a better look.

Yep. Definitely not her house.

A subtle feeling of distress starts creeping up under her skin, just as she realizes that it really feels like she’s being— “Oh my god,” she breathes out as soon as she notices Flynn sitting at her bedside and staring at her. She automatically tries to pull herself up in a sitting position as fast as possible, which causes a stab of pain to her side and tears a small cry out of her.

Flynn jumps on his feet, gently pressing on her shoulder to urge her to get back down. “I wouldn’t do that,” he says, useless as it is _now_ that she’s already _done_ _it_.

God, it hurts.

Her brain struggles as she tries to recall what the hell happened to put her in this position, considers that she might be hallucinating everything – because behind Flynn she spotted a couple of his henchmen drinking beer and playing cards, it totally looks like some kind of crazy dream – and tries to break out of the very insisting _it hurts_ loop her mind is currently stuck in.

“What exactly happened?” she ends up asking. She feels a bit light-headed, it’s probably for the best that she’s lying down.

Well, _technically_ it’s not a good thing that she’s helplessly lying around in Flynn’s company, but it’s been a while since she’s honestly believed that he’d lay a finger on her.

Flynn hovers over her for a few more seconds before going back to the chair he was sitting on, moving it a bit closer to the cot – which is a good thing, because this way Lucy doesn’t have to move to look at him, and she _really_ doesn’t want to move a muscle. The throbbing pain is annoying even when she stays put.

“You fainted,” he explains. “Straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes,” he adds, teasingly.

“I seem to always get too much of your attention with no effort,” she retorts, as her brain struggles to recall _how_ exactly— okay, she remembers the Eighteenth century. And— oh, god, she was on her own, and she ended up getting _stabbed_.

The memory of stumbling around, blood running between her fingers and sheer force of desperation moving her makes a shiver run down her spine.

“How are you feeling?” Flynn asks, serious this time.

Lucy snorts. “Not so great,” she admits.

What was she thinking, running around on her own? She should have stuck with— oh, crap.

“Where are Rufus and Wyatt?” she asks. Honestly, she doesn’t even clearly remember running into him, she must have been really out of it, but she’s pretty sure that they weren’t around at the time. If they had been, she probably wouldn’t be in Flynn’s— what? Warehouse? Sort of? Where the hell are they?

Flynn shrugs. “No idea. They weren’t around, I didn’t wait.”

Lucy blinks. It’s pretty much what she was expecting, but still— “Are you saying that they may still be looking for me in the Eighteenth century?”

He looks totally unfazed at the idea. “Possibly? I told you, I don’t know.”

Well, this is great. How do you alert someone in the Eighteenth century that they should stop looking all around for you, because you got a ride from the guy that you are supposedly chasing? It’s not like they carry phones, or said phones would work across years and years of distance anyway.

She inhales, trying to think of a solution. First things first, she needs to make sure that they _are_ actually still in the past.

“I need a phone,” she announces.

Flynn arches his brow, looking mildly amused. “What for?”

“I need to call Agent Christopher and ask if they are back,” she explains. He’s been surprisingly helpful up until now, let’s just hope that he won’t stop.

He thinks it over for a few seconds, before decreeing: “You get to ask that question, and that question only, then I take it away. Can’t have anyone trace the call, can we?”

“Fine.”

She can think later about a way to discover his secret headquarters if need be, right now her priority is making sure that Wyatt and Rufus don’t spend a week in the past looking for her while she sleeps her stab wound – god, she got _stabbed_ –  off in Flynn’s company.

Is she supposed to consider herself a prisoner? Probably not, considering that she’s not tied to anything and he’s handing her a burner phone.

Things would probably be easier in general if he straight-up acted like a Disney villain, though.

“Thank you,” she automatically says, thanking god that she has a good memory as she dials Agent Christopher’s number.

“ _Yes?”_

“Hi, it’s Lucy.”

Flynn is still sitting next to her, because of course he isn’t going to give her privacy to make her call. For a brief second, she considers trying to alert Agent Christopher of the situation she’s in, but honestly, she’s pretty sure that he’s not a threat to her, and she’s injured, she’s relying solely on his charity, so she’s in no position to piss him off.

Playing by his rules it is, then.

“ _Lucy? How— aren’t you supposed to be in the past?”_

“It’s— complicated,” she says, quickly. “I just need to know if Wyatt and Rufus are back yet.”

“ _No, they aren’t, but_ —”

“I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now. I have to go.”

“ _Lucy_ —”

She quickly ends the call, which earns her a satisfied smile from Flynn, who takes the phone she’s handing him and of course steps on it, just to be safe.

Lucy takes a deep, steadying breath, which obviously results in _more_ pain. Fantastic. She’d really love some painkillers, especially considering that she’ll have to sit up now, but this probably isn’t the best time to get drugged. How much worse would time travel sickness get if she were on drugs during the launch?

 _Okay, okay, just do it_.

She bites back an hiss of pain as she moves her legs to the side, realizing that she’s never really appreciated how much work her damn torso needs to do for her to be able to do something as simple as that, then she sits up, trying to make the arms do most of the work – and failing at it, if the new waves of pain are any indication.

She’s half-way through it when Flynn steps closer once again, reaching for her as if he wanted to push her down but didn’t dare to actually do it. “What do you think you are doing?” he asks, quickly, frowning at her.

“Rufus and Wyatt are still there,” she explains, her voice coming out strained. She might just ask for the damn painkillers and deal with the sickness later. Even though doubling over to throw up with that wound probably wouldn’t be pleasant either. “I’m gonna need a ride back,” she adds.

Flynn raises his eyebrows, which makes him look very, _very_ sceptical of her plan. “I don’t think that you should be running around with _that_ ,” he comments, pointing at her side with a grimace that lets her imagine what he has to say about _that_ thing existing in the first place. “You’d reopen all of your stitches, and I don’t think that you have that much blood left to give.”

He makes a good point, she has to admit. “I can’t leave them there,” she protests, though.

“They’ll come back eventually,” he shrugs.

She puffs in frustration. _Eventually_. Taking aside all the _damage_ that two people from the future staying in the Eighteenth century for too much time could do to history, what if they ended up catching some eradicated disease? What if something happened to them because they were looking for _her_?

It’s not really a gamble that she’s willing to take.

“It’s _risky_ ,” she replies. “For them, and for history. I need to let them know that I am in the present and I am okay.” ‘Okay’ is a bit of a stretch maybe, but still.

Flynn just stares at her for a few seconds, probably trying to decide if he’s going to be able to make her change her mind – she tries to convey with her eyes that _no_ , he _isn’t_ –, and he ends up sighing.

“Look,” he begins. “You can’t jump like that. But I can get a message to them, if it’s that important to you.”

“Really?” she says, unable to mask her surprise at the offer. Of course, after the initial relief at the thought that she might get to just lay down after all, she realizes that the odds of _that_ going well are remarkably low.

“Wyatt will shoot you,” she points out. It’s his job, but— Lucy would just prefer it if Flynn didn’t get a bullet as a thank you for helping her out, that’s all.

He scoffs. “He’ll _try_.”

She rolls her eyes. Okay, then.

“Can you get me a pen and a piece of paper? They won’t believe you if you don’t have some kind of proof.” They might assume that he’s holding her captive or something like that, but it’d still mean that she’s back to the Twenty-first century.

When he complies, she scribbles down a message saying to go back to the present, that she’s already there and she’ll meet them at Mason Industries, which Flynn stashes in his pocket before walking over to his men. He orders three of them into the Mothership and stays behind to talk with another. Judging by how the man in question keeps glancing in her direction, they are talking about her, which makes her stiffen a bit. The guy doesn’t look too happy.

Flynn leaves with a – probably pretty ironic – salute in her direction, and the blond man he was talking to approaches her, sitting on the chair that Flynn had previously been occupying and staring at her for a few seconds, arms crossed and posture rigid.

“I’m Karl,” he declares. Lucy can only assume that he’s not happy with Flynn’s brilliant idea of rescuing a member of the opposing team. “Need anything?”

Her first instinct is asking for some painkillers already, but the idea of getting sleepy and taking a nap while surrounded by strange men who don’t seem to particularly like her— yeah, no, she’s going to endure it until she’s back in friendly hands, thank you.

“No, I’m good,” she says.

Karl nods, his expression neutral, probably edging a bit on annoyance, as he lightens up a cigarette, his eyes drifting away from her.

Lucy doesn’t last long in the silence. “You know, you don’t have to sit there,” she points out, since he’s clearly unhappy about it and she isn’t even all that enthusiastic about the company.

Karl’s eyes drift back on her. He considers it, then he let out a brief sigh of annoyance. “Apparently, I do.”

That’s the last of it, up until Lucy eyes a couple of books and decides to ask for one of those. Reading helps passing the time and gives her something to concentrate on besides her own suffering, even if it takes a while to find a semi-comfortable position to hold the book up. She gets her hands a volume on European history, which makes for an interesting read, considering that she likes the subject and she doesn’t know much about history outside of America – she did take a couple of classes, but nothing very specific.

When the Mothership reappears, she’s about eighty pages into the book. Flynn gets out first, looking unharmed, which probably means that Wyatt did fail at shooting him on sight after all. Lucy can’t help feeling a bit relieved.

“Done,” Flynn announces, walking up to her. “I’m positive they believed you are in the present, even if they are probably under the impression that I have kidnapped you as a part of my evil plan.” He makes it sound like it’s the most ridiculous rumour that he’s ever had the displeasure of hearing.

“So they’ll head back?” she asks.

“Most likely.”

She nods, letting out a brief sigh of relief.

“So, I’m obviously not going anywhere near Mason industries,” he announces, glancing at the book that she had been reading as a weird flash of something close to smugness crosses his face. “But I can take you somewhere crowded and leave you with a phone.”

“Oh.” She blinks, a small smile of relief twisting her lips. “Yes, that would be— that’d be great.”

“Okay,” he says, thoughtfully, dragging the ‘o’ a bit as he looks around. “I’ll have to blindfold you until we are far enough from here. Sorry, precautions,” he adds, when her face twists automatically into an offended grimace. She doesn’t particularly like the idea of being blindfolded, and also she doesn’t appreciate the implication that she’d turn his kindness against him and use the ride back he’s offering to rat him out to the authorities. But there’s not much that she can argue to prove it, so she keeps her mouth shut. “Did you take something for the pain? The ride might hurt a bit.”

“Uh, no, actually,” she replies. She has no idea where they are, so she can only hope that there’s _asphalt_ on the road. She doesn’t think that she could survive a long series of bumps.

Flynn turns sharply towards Karl, who’s been standing a few feet away from them since when he got out of the Mothership.

“She didn’t ask,” Karl protests.

Flynn just shakes his head in disapproval, before reaching for a backpack and handing her a bottle of pills. “Here, take it,” he says. “They’ll take at least fifteen minutes to kick in, we’ll go then.”

Lucy nods and accepts the bottle.

 

 

Flynn gives her a ride personally, which is a bit surprising, considering that he’s more likely to be recognized than any of his men. Lucy appreciates it, though: she doesn’t think that she’d have felt quite as calm during the trait that she spent blindfolded, and the silence would be much more awkward if it were anyone else.

The painkillers are predictably making her sleepy – other than slightly nauseous –, so she can only hope that she’ll manage to fight it off until she’s back home, in her _bed_.

“How is it going?” Flynn asks, glancing at her.

“Okay,” she replies, truthfully: he’s going pretty slow, and the road isn’t bumpy, so between that and the painkillers she’s not suffering quite as much as she’d been expecting. “You can speed up a little, you know,” she adds, an edge of playfulness in her voice.

He scoffs, amused, but he complies.

He leaves her on a bench in a fairly crowded street, with a phone in her hand. She probably looks very awkward, with her long skirt and a jacket that’s evidently not hers covering up all the blood on her torn-up corset, and she can only hope that someone will come quickly, because she doesn’t like sitting there for everyone to narrow their eyes at.

“Thank you,” she says, quickly, when Flynn gives her a last assessing look and moves to leave. “For— you know, all this.”

He stares at her in silence for a few seconds before offering a smile. “I’d say anytime, but I’d strongly prefer if this never happened again.”

“You and me both,” she mumbles, her hand reflexively brushing against her injured side.

“Take care, Lucy,” he adds, before waving briefly and walking back to the car.

“You too,” she lets out, even though she’s not sure he’s heard her.

She sees him drive away, but she’s positive that he stopped at a safe distance and never left until Agent Christopher personally came for her – Lucy didn’t dare checking then, afraid that she’d accidentally lead them to him; that’d be a rather poor repayment.


End file.
